Hint: It's Not the Fish
by bkreed
Summary: Jehan likes jellyfish. Courfeyrac likes Jehan.


by this point Jehan and Courfeyrac are at the point where all their friends are like "c'mon just get together it's so obvious" (even Enjolras can see it) but neither of them have had the 'moment' they wish for

* * *

**Jehan: **let's go to the aquarium!

**Jehan: **I'm outside your apartment atm 3

**Courf 3: **lol well i guess i don't really have an option do i?

**Jehan**_:_nope! ;-)

Courfeyrac grinned down at his phone, fingers gliding across the keyboard as he responded with a quick "_gimme 4 1/2 mins_." Jehan replied within four seconds, a smiley face flashing on the screen.

And Courfeyrac was downstairs, hair tussled (and Jehan _loved _when his hair was messed like this, he noted with a fine blush dusting his cheeks) and a bright, wide smile plastered to his tan face.

(Also, his socks clearly didn't match, but Jehan wouldn't mention that just yet.)

"You said four and a half minutes." Jehan pulled out his phone as Courfeyrac bounded over to him for evidence. He wore a lopsided grin and a dimple to suit.

(His socks also didn't match. Courfeyrac says nothing.)

"I did."

"You said that six minutes and –" a stolen glance at the lime green watch on his wrist – "twelve seconds ago."

"I could've said no."

Jehan laughed, a lilting laugh that made Courfeyrac smile so wide he felt his cheeks were going to fall off. "I know."

They'd arrived at the aquarium after about ten minutes of walking. Jehan counted every time Courfeyrac's fingers would brush against his wrist, or he would catch the brunet staring at him as he chattered about the new jellyfish family at the aquarium, or every time Jehan would blush as Courfeyrac caught him staring at the gentle laugh lines at the corners of his mouth.

(17.)

It wasn't too crowded—school was out for the summer so there weren't any field trips, and, apparently, not many went to see ninety fish and other aquatic… things enslaved behind large slates of glass in their free time. Jehan paid admission for both of them; as he suggested it, it was his duty to pay, ignoring Courfeyrac's protests. Jehan grabbed the correct amount of money from his dark purple over the shoulder purse before Courfeyrac could even reach in his pockets.

To be honest, Courfeyrac didn't like fish. Or jellyfish. Or octopi.

(Octopuses. Octopods.

Whatever the hell they're called.)

They freaked him out because it felt like they were constantly staring at him. However, as he's claimed multiple times to "like all animals, even the ugly ones!" he didn't tell mention this to Jehan.

(Plus, it may wipe the adorably awkward beam off the poet's face. Who'd want that?)

What Courfeyrac _did _like, however, was watching Jehan. Not in any of that creepy 'I'm going to stare at you across the room and hope you acknowledge my presence for once' stuff, but genuinely watch him as they went out together. Jehan clasped his hand and was almost immediately winded through twists and turns, following red arrows that led them to the jellyfix exhibit. Jehan giggled the entire time.

(Jehan loves jellyfish.

He also loves holding Courfeyrac's hand; they're softer than one would expect, his nails short so they don't into his skin.)

Jehan dismisses Courfeyrac's hand as the reach their destination, to the dismay of both of them, as the sudden rush of cool air replaced the spots where their fingers met so effortlessly. He pressed himself against the glass just as two large jellyfish and four small ones swam (glided? Courfeyrac wasn't sure) in the water behind the glass. Courfeyrac stayed behind, his eyes moving from the (less than comforting) sea creatures to the work of art mere feet in front of him.

(Work of art is the best way to describe Jean Prouvaire. He sometimes forgets that it's a compliment.)

Jehan's smile had dimmed to a gaze of childlike amazement. His malachite eyes were wide behind tortoiseshell glasses that rested on a long, thin nose. If Enjolras had the profile of a Greek, Jehan followed right after him. Courfeyrac admired the prominent freckles that were painted onto apricot skin, one particularly dark park littered just above his left eyebrow.

Courfeyrac always imagined he had freckles on the rest of his body, too.

(They both have freckles. They both adore this fact.)

His lips - pink and soft and Courfeyrac cannot help but wonder what they would feel like against his own – were quirked in the trace of a humane smile. Jehan's trademark strawberry-blonde hair was tied back into a fishtail braid that fell over his shoulder and stopped an inch below his armpit. His sweater, floral and powder blue and at least three sizes too big, hid his knuckles and fell just past his hips. Black leggings – bless Prouvairian style – hugged Jehan's long legs (and his ass, thank God) and ended with abrupt, chunky, pink and brown boots.

(And, of course, his socks don't match.)

"Hey, Jehan?"

(Jehan knew Courfeyrac didn't like fish. He wore those leggings for a reason.)

"What?"

(Courfeyrac often speaks with little contemplation.)

"This is a date, right?"

Silence. Jehan tore his gaze from the jellyfish, eyes bright and thin fingers playing with the collection of rings that adorned them. He didn't blush when he spoke. "I believe it is."

"Oh, thank God."

Jehan _did _blush, however, when Courfeyrac moved toward him with such an eager jolt that Jehan almost took a step backwards and their lips met for the first time. Jehan melted into it quickly, the electricity sparking from one pair of lips to the other.

(They did this all in front of the jellyfish. Courfeyrac didn't really care. He just focused on the blushing poet before him.)


End file.
